Putting the Grand in Guignol

A
metal parody band opening for the bands it parodies was either an
inspired idea or an unfortunate accident; either way it was fantastic
entertainment. The blackshirt audience kinda went Huh? throughout the
set by sexy tub-o-lard Fifi LaRue and his whitefaced cartoon crew;
meanwhile I was laughing my head off as bellower LaRue dismembered
mannequins, pulled Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitts baby out of a tiny
coffin and demanded the return of the 80s. Short guys in platforms Andy Monic (bass) and
Marcus Sin (guitar) churned the unexpectedly craftsmanlike
Priest-meets-Dictators songs, and provided goofy visual counterpoint to
horned crimson drummer El Diablo and the droolworthy Lanel Roxx, whose
one-finger keyboard work was as perfect as her spaced expression.
Brilliantly stupid concept.

The transition to the serious metal
of Intentional Rage ground the ol gears, but clarity soon dawned:
These burly Simi Valleyites in cargo shorts (Hecho in Mexico, read
the shirt of lead barker Wray Gould) have got a lot of engine under the
hood. Their riffs truly rock, and drummer Patricias murky thrashing
made for a Raw Power-like chemistry. You gotta like a band that can
ignore formula and build a strong machine from available parts.

Back
from his side project Starwood, Lizzy Borden has reclaimed his skull
masks, strippers and beloved hatchet, just like it was 1987 again.
Wrangling a searchlight, wrapping himself in a flag, screeching through
a rubberized TV screen, he made a spectacle of himself as few can. And
lets not forget that hes still got a voice made for flayed melody, a
raft of military-strength material from There Will Be Blood Tonight
to Me Against the World, and a band (led by guitarist Ira Black) that
totally shreds. You pay, L.B. delivers.

Okay, Ill quit
complaining that WASP dont play their fine newer material, and just
lie back and let Blackie Lawless rape me. The smoke. The lights.
Lawless ever-evolving crazy-spring mike-stand skeleton perch. A new
drummer and six-stringer (Mike Dupke and Doug Blair) with an ammo dump
of chops, energy and control. Anyone who didnt get chills from the
dark rampage of Wild Child or the balladic agony of Sleeping in the
Fire just doesnt like rock, and we all appreciated a rarely played
early selection, the spooky Widowmaker. Its essential that WASP
close any bill theyre on; when they drain you, you stay drained. Up in
the balcony, a geisha fanned a dead couple. They died happy.

I ordered a burger, and it came with ketchup. I never eat ketchup. Tonight, what the hell, pour it on.